Something Extraordinary
by eight 0f hearts
Summary: "If she was being completely honest, Emma entered MasterChef for the express purpose of pissing off Neal." Emma is a contestant on MasterChef. Killian is the celebrity chef who comes in to mentor for a week. It turns out they have far more in common than they ever expected.


**a/n: **Possibly the stupidest thing I've ever written? Haha

* * *

If she was being completely honest, Emma entered MasterChef for the express purpose of pissing off Neal.

It started as a joke, as these things are wont to do. Her ex-boyfriend had come over for dinner and Emma was cooking. For the last few years they had maintained a cordial relationship, managing to work their way back to friend status – mostly for the sake of Henry. Emma couldn't complain; Neal was good with their son and given her job as a bail bond agent, it was useful having him around to take care of the kid if she needed to travel.

So there they were, enjoying a meal together, happy as larry, when the topic of conversation shifted to Emma's employment.

"Yeah, I had been considering getting out of the business," she said.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "You're not happy?"

"I'm not _un_happy." She shot a glance at Henry, who was watching the conversation with interest. She had talked to him about this already. "Just... with Henry getting into high school now, I thought it might be better to move into something more stable."

"Hmm." Neal took a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "I think it's a good idea. What will you do, though? I mean, you're not really good at anything else."

"Oh, thanks." She bristled, trying to laugh it off but inwardly a little insulted. It was the sort of off-the-cuff comment Neal always managed to make, hurtful without meaning to be, speaking before he thought. "I mean, I could go back to college but we don't really have the money right now. It was just a thought."

There was a moment of silence as they all chewed contemplatively. The television was on behind them, a pleasant background noise, and Emma and Henry turned their attention back to it briefly. MasterChef was just leading into an ad break, after the delightful cliffhanger of contestant Regina Mills – who had won a 'power apron' giving her benefits over the other contestants – royally screwing over Emma's favourite, Graham, by making him cook with squid, knowing full well that he hated seafood.

And that was when it happened.

As the show moved into advertisements, the message that had been playing for the last few episodes popped up – _MasterChef applications for 2015 open now, join us on facebook_. Etc etc.

Henry choked on his water and Emma moved to thump him on the back, but he batted her away.

"Oh my God, Mum!" His voice was alight with the excitement he always got when he had a new idea. "I know what you're good at."

"What?" Emma asked, exchanging an amused glance with Neal.

"Cooking!" Henry pointed furiously at the screen. "You should audition for MasterChef. Oh my God, it's the best idea ever. You have to do it."

Emma paused.

The idea crossed briefly through her mind, entertained her for two seconds, and then was firmly packed away as _ridiculous_.

"Thanks Henry," she laughed, "But I'm not _that _good. Besides... the food industry? I don't know."

"I mean it!" Henry said. "You're seriously good."

"Come on, Henry," Neal chuckled. "Emma's cooking's nice but it's not MasterChef level."

"What," Emma said, only half-joking, "You don't think I'm one of the best home-cooks in the country?"

Neal laughed. And kept laughing. And then seemed to realise she was somewhat serious, and said, a touch awkwardly, "Uhh, no?"

Well! Well, well, well. Emma thought these were rather fine words coming from someone who was literally _sitting right there scoffing down her food._

Emma was not particularly one for impulse decisions of this scale; she liked to know she could trust her ideas before she went through with them. But for some reason, Neal's blithe dismissal of her culinary abilities struck a nerve, and before she knew was she was doing, she snatched his plate away from him, drawing a yelp of surprise.

"That's it," she announced. "I'm going to enter MasterChef."

"What?!" cried Henry, in excitement.

"_What_," cried Neal, in confusion.

Emma took out her laptop and logged into facebook.

* * *

Fast-forward eight months and she had made the top twelve final contestants.

Rumple Gold, proud bearer of two Michelin stars and host of the program, was required by the network to consistently bang on about '_ordinary people, extraordinary food' _and '_the MasterChef journey' _and '_growth of character_'.

Emma had always considered that a load of tosh while watching, but after her initial audition – and the one after that, and the one after that, all the way until she got into the top twenty-four and beyond – somewhere along the line it became not so much about proving Neal wrong anymore.

She needed a new job. Cooking had always been little more than a hobby, but surrounded by the other contestants' passion and enthusiasm... well, it had been contagious. Becoming a chef – even owning her own restaurant one day – suddenly it all seemed within reach. Suddenly it was something she _wanted_.

And she'd met good people, so far. She got on well with the others in the MasterChef house.

Most days, at least. When she woke up this morning, it was to the sudden grim realisation that it was Henry's birthday, and he was halfway across the country staying with Neal. She was hit with a sudden wave of melancholy. It was one thing to talk to her son on the phone and skype, another entirely to see him in person, and being separated from him for the months and months of filming was taking its toll.

It was here that she made her glaring mistake: mentioning this to Mary Margaret in hearing distance of the producers.

"You feeling okay, Emma?" Mary Margaret had asked at breakfast. She and her husband David were this season's novelty; the first married couple to both manage to get through to the finals. She and Emma had clicked instantly and she seemed to have some sixth sense as to when the other was feeling a little down.

"I'm fine," Emma replied with a smile. "Just missing Henry, you know?"

And with those two words – _missing Henry_ – suddenly there were cameras all around her and a producer in her face, asking her to expand on how she felt at being separated from her family for so long.

She knew exactly what they wanted – tears and drama and for her to get all emotional. For someone who spent the vast majority of her time trying to do the exact _opposite_, it was somewhat grating.

"No, I'm fine, really," she said.

They made her go alone to another room anyway and talk to the camera about it.

"Seriously, I'm fine, I just miss him a bit. It won't affect my cooking today. I'm not the sort of person who kind of... lets these things get the better of them."

"Can you rephrase that to 'I hope this won't affect my cooking today?'" the producer whispered, and Emma couldn't help rolling her eyes.

"I hope this won't affect my cooking today," she said, just to get them to leave her alone.

They made her skype call Henry anyway, and have possibly the briefest, awkwardest conversation in the history of skype conversations, that consisted mostly of '_I love you' _and _'I miss you'_ and _'I believe in you_' as well as a slightly embarrassing appearance from Neal, who was in the shower when she called and did not realise they were being filmed.

She thought it would end there.

She was oh so wrong.

It seemed that 'Emma's emotional issues' were going to be the focus of today's episode. No sooner had they entered the MasterChef kitchen – where they moved to line up in front of the judges, who were already waiting – than Gold stepped forward and, after giving his customary intro, singled her out.

"Emma, dearie, I heard you were quite upset this morning."

"I wouldn't say quite upset," she replied, even though she knew they'd cut that part out anyway. "I... I guess I just miss my son."

"Tell us about him," recipe book author and dessert chef Blue prompted. The third judge, kind but strict food critic Archie Hopper, nodded enthusiastically.

Resigning herself to her fate, Emma said, "He's a good kid, really supportive. We haven't always had it easy. I had him when I was really young and his dad only re-entered the picture a few years ago. But they're staying together now and they're both so happy for me to be here."

_God I hate sob stories_, she thought, and forced a smile.

"Do you want to make him proud?" Blue asked, faux-gentleness in her tone, and Emma struggled not to roll her eyes.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, we have a surprise for you all today that will hopefully cheer you up," Gold said. "As you may have noticed, dearies, today will be a mystery box challenge. But today we'll have two very special guests coming in to mentor you for the entire week. I don't doubt you've heard of them."

Emma's ears pricked up, and beside her she felt Mary Margaret stiffen with excitement. In past seasons there were always a few weeks when well-known chefs came in to mentor, and even when cooking was just a hobby for her, she'd been a fan of quite a few of them. She was looking forward to meeting whoever it was.

"At the tender age of eighteen," Gold declared, "this chef took in his younger brother and got a job at a kitchen to support their living. From there he quickly climbed the ranks due to his inventiveness and skill until now both he and his brother run a world-renowned seafood restaurant with two Michelin stars. They have been the subject of numerous documentaries and cooking shows, have produced three bestselling cook books, and have each at various points won Good Food's young chef of the year award. May I present, from the Jolly Roger – the Jones brothers!"

The room erupted into applause. Standing near Emma, Ruby gave an excited squeal as they all twisted their heads around to see the two brothers entering the kitchen, grinning and waving.

Emma was not normally one to fangirl, but even she couldn't help the flicker of excitement in her stomach.

Liam and Killian Jones were the celebrity chefs of the moment. Young, talented, and not lacking in the looks department, they had charmed the culinary world with their modern take on traditional seafood dishes, their easy sense of humour in interviews, and their underdog roots. Emma had several of their recipe books at home and while she wasn't an avid stalker of all their press, she had followed their television series when they first opened their restaurant.

They looked exactly the same in person – all dark air and blue eyes and pristine white chef's uniforms. She almost couldn't believe they were really standing in front of her.

Liam walked up and hugged each of the three judges, but Killian hung back a bit, shaking hands with Blue and Archie but just giving Gold a nod and barely even a smile. Emma frowned a bit, glancing at the others – but no one else seemed to have noticed the awkwardness. She shook it off – maybe they just didn't know each other that well – and her attention was quickly captured by Liam as he began to speak.

"Hey guys," he said, waving. "It's our first time mentoring on here so I'm really excited. I hope you're all excited as well."

Laughs and nods all around.

"Ruby, you seemed very happy when these two walked in," Blue commented. "Are you a fan?"

Ruby nodded enthusiastically.

"What about you Emma?" Archie prompted, with a kindly smile. "Has this brightened your day?"

_Oh God, _Emma thought, _stop singling me out_. Both Liam and Killian were looking at her now, and she suddenly wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm looking forward to working with them."

"Hopefully not too intimidated," Blue piped up, and Liam gave a roaring laugh.

"We're not scary at all," he said. "But I want to see you guys cook now, so..."

* * *

Emma admired Gold. He was an incredibly talented chef and the master classes he taught each week were invaluable.

However, he had the unfortunate habit of approaching contestants during cooks and putting them right off. Honestly, it was one thing to provide constructive criticism and another thing to march up and start going "Hmmm" ominously, or sniff suspiciously at pots and plates and then pull disgusted faces, or to go "have you considered rethinking your dish, dearie" when there were only fifteen minutes left on the clock.

This time Gold was not alone in his trip to the back of the room, where Emma's bench was, in order to provide his tender counsel. Liam was with him, and Emma looked up with a slightly nervous smile.

"What're you cooking?" Liam asked, with a grin.

The mystery box this week wasn't too cruel; she'd quite easily come up with a stuffed quail dish. Gold, however, took one look at her progress so far and pulled a face that had Emma's heart sinking.

"Too simple, my dear," he said.

"I think it sounds tasty," Liam spoke up. Emma started to smile at him gratefully, but Gold was shaking his head.

"Tasty, maybe, but not impressive enough. We're only tasting the top five dishes, remember."

It was a rule that had always grated her.

"I'll try think up something else," she managed, and Gold gave a firm nod before stalking away. Liam glanced over his shoulder at her as he followed, and pulled a face. It made her laugh, and when she glanced across the room it was to find Killian – walking around with Archie – watching her with an almost amused look.

She added a puree to her quail, but it wasn't enough, and she wasn't chosen for tasting. She couldn't feel too disappointed though; the top three dishes were all her friends, Mary Margaret, David and Ruby – and they still had an invention test coming up to determine who would go into elimination and who would be able to compete for an immunity pin.

* * *

The theme of today's invention test was Malaysian cuisine. They were half an hour in when the judges started walking around again, and this time it was Killian and Archie who came over to her.

"Emma," Archie began, "How are you holding up since this morning? Has the separation from your family affected your cooking so far?"

"Oh for God's sake," Emma couldn't help blurting out – frustrated that they were still banging on about it, and she had nearly burned the filling for her san choy bow, which was just great - "I'm not... no, I'm fine. Thanks," she added, because Archie always _meant _well, and he seemed to take the hint, smiling a bit nervously before moving on.

Killian lingered, and Emma glanced up at him as she started chopping a baby corn. He seemed amused.

"Sorry," she said with a small laugh, "They've been harping on about it for ages trying to get me worked up. You know?"

"Oh, I know, love," he replied, grinning. "I mean, I understand they need to create drama, but still. Just about every interview someone tries to bring up my father. It gets tiring. Everything I'm willing to let them know is already on my wikipedia page."

"Oh God, tell me about it." It burst out before she could stop it, heedless of the cameras – because it had been eight months of people invading her privacy and while she _knew _this was what she had signed up for when she entered a reality show competition, it was still a struggle, especially when she had spent a lifetime building up walls. "People asking me about my family and my upbringing all the time-"

"Not exactly things you want the whole country to know," Killian added, quietly. Her eyes locked on his and she stopped chopping, caught up in how suddenly earnest he looked. Almost sad. "Not because of the pity, even, it's just... personal. And should be in the past. I mean we're here now, aren't we? That should be enough."

"People just always want the story," she replied softly.

Killian nodded, and looked like he was about to say something else, but at that moment Gold hollered, loudly, "_Forty minutes to go_," and the mood was broken.

"Make sure the wok's really hot before you put the noodles in," Killian said abruptly, and walked off.

Emma's heart was racing and she wasn't sure why. She suddenly wondered how much he knew – she'd spoken a little, throughout the competition, about the numerous foster families she'd cycled through, about making her own way as soon as she turned sixteen – but she doubted the judges had told the Jones brothers all that much about the contestants before they came in.

Still, she almost felt as though they'd connected, somehow.

_Don't be stupid_, she chided herself, and turned to focus on her cooking.

* * *

Emma's stomach was churning as she waited for her turn to be judged. No matter how many times they did this, it was always nerve-wracking to hear her name called and have to carry her plate of food across the room over to the judges.

Today even more so than usual, with Liam and Killian Jones standing up at the front of the kitchen.

"Emma," Archie called, and she approached.

"I've made fried kway teow noodles with a pork san choy bow and I've sort of... mixed the pork filling through the noodles," she said.

"You didn't make the noodles yourself?" Gold asked, seemingly always needing to be critical of _something_.

"Nooo? We only had an hour and a half, so... I assumed everything in the pantry was stuff we could use."

"Looks fine to me," Killian said. And then, for no discernible reason, gave Gold the dirtiest look Emma had ever seen. Gold responded with a withering glare and Emma wondered again what the problem was between them.

Liam poked his brother in the shoulder until he finally stopped pulling faces.

"Let's taste!" Blue declared loudly and nervously.

They tasted.

"Delightful," Archie said, and launched into a ramble about flavours. Emma was mostly just relieved, but it was the Jones brothers' comments she was really after – Liam had a big smile on his face and was now eating the rest of the plate while the other judges talked.

"You may not have made the noodles yourself but they're cooked to perfection," he said. "Good thinking to have the wok so hot before you started."

Emma nodded, her gaze darting across to Killian. He winked.

"Nice work," was all he said, and she smiled.

* * *

As it was, she ended up in the top three, along with Ruby and Mulan. Poor Anton, Leroy and Tink were sent to elimination, having had some disasters to do with raw chicken, undercooked prawns and too much chilli.

With filming over for the day, they often went straight back to the house. Today, however, it was clear everyone wanted to hang around and talk to the Jones brothers. Emma caught Killian looking in her direction several times and got the impression that he wanted to come and speak to her in particular – but the producers were already ushering the two famous chefs away and it was evident they wouldn't be seeing them again until tomorrow.

She wikipedia'd Killian that night – just to see what his page said – and found there was surprisingly little under the section on his personal life. Despite what he'd said about interviewers always trying to leech the story out of him, it seemed he'd managed to keep most of it from leaking out.

'_Lived with his father until the age of ten, when his older brother Liam took him into his care'. _And if she recalled, Liam had only been eighteen at the time himself. She bit her lip, thinking back to a documentary she'd watched a while back – she had a dim recollection of Liam mentioning at some point that their mother had died in childbirth and that he himself had spent some time living with distant relatives in Australia while Killian stayed back with their father.

If she recalled, the reason Liam had taken Killian in wasn't because their father had died.

She wondered what had happened.

And then kicked herself, because she knew from personal experience that it was _none of her business_ – that it didn't matter whether he was a celebrity or not, no one deserved to have other people nosing into their past.

Still. She was... curious. Something about it gave her an odd feeling, nostalgia almost, making her think back to her own years in the foster system. All the times she'd felt abandoned and alone.

_Pull yourself together_. Shaking it off, she forced herself to shut her laptop and go out to socialise with the others.

* * *

Emma always felt a bit bad about being so relieved when other people got sent to elimination. So sue her, she wanted to win.

As soon as she walked into the kitchen, Killian – standing up front with the judges again – caught her eye immediately and gave a small smile. She smiled back, wondering why she suddenly felt almost nervous.

Along with the other contestants, she moved up to the viewing gallery where she'd watch the elimination challenge from.

"-Liam will be guiding you as you cook," Gold was explaining. "So let's go into the pantry and take a look at what we have, shall we?"

The three eliminatees walked in, accompanied by the judges – but Killian moved up to the viewing gallery instead, the safe contestants watching him with interest.

"I'm hanging up here with you guys today," he announced.

"You're not mentoring the other three as well?" David spoke up, and Killian shook his head.

"Nah." He gave an exaggerated pout. "Apparently Liam's more popular than I am. I'm joking, I'm meant to answer any questions you guys have, about anything. Your reward for not being in elimination is the pleasure of my company." He winked, but Emma couldn't tell if it was aimed at her, or Ruby, who was standing behind her.

There were fewer cameras up here, since the main focus was on those who'd be in elimination. Emma hung back a little as the others started crowding Killian, asking questions about his restaurant, or various cooking techniques, even requesting extended critique of the dishes he'd tasted yesterday. He answered patiently, and couldn't think of anything she particularly wanted to ask, so she was content to just listen.

There was a flurry of motion down below as the competitors ran back to their benches and started cooking. Most of the people up on the gallery started cheering and moved over to support their friends, leaving Emma's own little group – Mary Margaret, David, and Ruby – hanging around with Killian. As it was, the other three quickly became absorbed in what was happening down below as well, leaving she and Killian leaning over the balcony of the gallery beside each other.

"Who're you going for?" Killian asked, glancing at her.

Emma looked around, not wanting to be caught picking favourites – but the cameras were all trained on the others.

"Anton," she replied, "I'm probably closest to him so I wouldn't want to see him go. They're all strong cooks, though."

"You enjoying the competition so far?"

"Yes! Yes, I am. I mean, it was sort of an impulse decision," she said. "But it's definitely an experience."

Killian snorted. "Some impulse decision, love, it's taken you to the top twelve."

"I guess it has," she replied with a half-smile.

There was a moment of silence.

"Liam is so nervous," Killian chuckled, his eyes fixed on his brother.

Emma followed his gaze. "Really? He doesn't look it."

"He absolutely is. Tell you a secret," he said, "He seems very confident but becoming this famous? Not something he ever expected. Back when we were living in England the Daily Mail used to catch photos of him leaving the restaurant and he always looked like a stunned mullet. And when we were filming our series they had trouble getting him to look at the camera."

"Never took either of you as shy," Emma said, and he laughed.

"Not shy, per se, just... not really used to getting this much attention."

"Oh," she said, his choice of words striking a nerve. "I... I guess I know how that feels."

He looked at her, that sudden soft look taking over his features. "So tell me about you, then, Emma. What's the MasterChef dream?"

"Oh don't start," she chuckled. "I don't know. I used to be a bail bondsperson-"

"A what?"

"Sort of like a bounty hunter," she began, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Good lord."

"I know, sounds very exciting doesn't it. But I have a kid – Henry, he's thirteen now and going on high school and I needed something more settled. Cooking was always a hobby but I never really thought about it as a career. But it's something I enjoy and the idea of working in a restaurant now is... exciting, I guess."

"You've done service challenges on here, right?" Killian asked, and she nodded.

"Friggin' stressful. And I know it'll be like that every night if I end up in the industry but... I don't know. I think I could get used to it."

For a moment they just sort of grinned at each other.

A great fuss rose up below, someone's food seemingly having caught fire, and at that moment some of the others wandered back over, wanting to talk to Killian again.

Mary Margaret came up by Emma's side.

"He likes you," she whispered.

"_What_?!" Emma hissed. She glanced around automatically, then, satisfied they weren't being filmed, turned to her friend. "What the hell, Mary Margaret?"

"Killian," Mary Margaret said, peeking over at him. "He's been watching you since yesterday."

"We bonded over mutual hatred of the nature of reality TV," Emma informed her. "He doesn't... I... he's famous and we barely know each other! Besides, he's..." she trailed off there, feeling suddenly guilty.

Because it was true, if Liam was the charming, down-to-earth one, the stubborn everyman who built his way up from nothing, Killian was – well, the lady's man. The young, brash womaniser who the Daily Mail wrote scandalous articles about.

(Not that Emma was admitting to reading the Daily Mail but... so sue her, the comments section was funny).

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to say more, but time ran out at that moment and everyone's attention turned yet again to the cooking.

* * *

Leroy was out.

Emma was not overly sad; he was rather grumpy and they hadn't been particularly close. Still, every week the house got emptier and emptier, and it was a little disconcerting to realise just how fast the time had gone.

There was a little time after filming ended for people to loiter around, and Emma turned to Mary Margaret and David, wanting to talk to them – only to find them already engrossed in each other, hands joined. She made towards Ruby, but she was throwing her head back in laughter at something Victor had said – the two of them had been getting along smashingly lately, which the cameras loved.

Abruptly, Emma felt lonely.

It was stupid, she knew – she could go up and talk to anyone. Tink, Jefferson, even Aurora the lighting girl who she'd become quite friendly with – but she got like this sometimes. Realised that apart from Henry, she didn't have an easy closeness with anybody. And here and now, watching husbands and wives and best friends talking to each other-

She felt a bit like an island.

_Stop being irrational, _she told herself.

Her eyes moved across the room and landed on Killian. He was standing by Liam, one hand on his brother's shoulder as the other man leaned on one of the kitchen counters, tapping away at his phone – both were smiling, and a shiver ran down Emma's spine.

She envied their closeness. And suddenly – suddenly the feelings that had nagged at her yesterday rose up again, overwhelming. She missed Henry. She missed her _family_ – and he was the only one she had who she could even consider family –

She needed air.

She strode towards the exit, ignoring a worried question from Aurora as she passed, intent on just getting _outside_.

* * *

Killian found her there, standing in the herb garden swatting at a bee that wouldn't leave her alone.

"Alright?" he asked quietly.

Emma jumped, not having heard him approach. "Fine," she replied automatically – but she was upset, and he'd seen it.

He leaned against the wall beside her.

"I don't think I could do it," he said.

"What?"

"Make a huge change to my lifestyle like you are. Ever since I was a kid it was just... cooking. It's what Liam did so it's what I ended up doing. Wasn't even a conscious choice, really. I'm not complaining, but. What you're doing takes guts."

She turned to look at him. His eyes were very blue, pupils constricted in the glare of the evening sun. Suddenly she felt almost flustered.

"I'm not brave," she said. "Not really. I got into this because I was annoyed my ex-boyfriend said my cooking wasn't good enough to get on here."

There was a moment of very stunned silence. Then Killian laughed so abruptly that he choked on his own spit and fell into a coughing fit. Emma pounded him on the back, then started giggling herself, and they both fell about in fits of laughter, quite unable to speak for several moments.

"God," Killian gasped out finally, "Bloody hell, Emma, that's... that's the best thing I've ever heard. Oh my God. Did you rub it in his face?"

"Why, I would never- yes. I did. A bit." She couldn't stop smiling for some reason, and felt very silly.

"Still," Killian said, finally straightening up. "You're going through with it. That's brave. Making the decision to come here, knowing it would take you from your family. Like I said. I don't think I'd do it."

"It's not exactly new to me." She wasn't sure why she let that out. But Killian was watching her intently now, and suddenly – suddenly she _wanted _to tell someone. "I was an orphan. My parents gave me up and I was passed through several foster homes. None of them kept me longer than a few years. None of them _wanted_ me. And then when I was sixteen I got out and lived on my own for a while. So being on my own... not foreign."

"Emma." He looked pained, now, and Emma suddenly felt embarrassed. She turned away, walls slamming up as they always did, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, turning her back around.

"That just makes you even more brave," he said. "Being willing to part from your son, from the family you have now, because you want a job that's better for him. That's selfless and... and amazing, love."

It hit her suddenly that she was being called _amazing _by one of the most popular chefs in the country, if not the western world. And abruptly, she became acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, the contact almost making her skin tingle.

_Shit, _she thought. _Don't overthink it, don't... don't presume_-

Two producers and some of the crew emerged from the door and Killian snatched his hand back. Emma felt almost hurt for a moment before realising that she really did not want rumours spreading – and spread they would, even from just a hand on an arm – and she turned away slightly awkwardly.

* * *

That night she googled him again. Totally not stalking, or so she reasoned, because he was a celebrity and thus this was public information.

She scrounged up a grainy, 240p youtube video of an old show highlighting the '_best of British chefs'_. A pixelly Killian, a good few years younger than he was now, was being interviewed by a platinum blonde woman.

"Are you and your brother close?" she asked. Emma had no idea about different UK accents but she sounded kind of like the maid from Downton Abbey.

"Yes," Killian answered. It was fast enough that Emma, who made a living reading people and anticipating their reactions, could tell straight away that it was a lie. Or at least, not the entire truth.

Downton Abbey lady seemed sharp, for she caught onto it too. And proceeded to wait, in silence, for him to expand.

"I mean," Killian added, after a moment. "It's funny, you know I didn't see a great deal of him until I moved in with him. So for the first ten years of my life he was in an entirely different country and it was... a bit strange. Suddenly having this brother, almost twice my age, who I knew nothing about. But we've... we've made it work, and we're much closer now than we were when we were younger. I'd say we're close now and getting closer every day. It's good working together. He's my best friend as well as my brother."

Emma paused the video because she suddenly almost wanted to cry.

It was an occupational hazard of having been through so many families that she tended to dwell on _what-ifs _and _could-haves_. Oh, she tried not to, but at late at night when she lay alone in a cold bed – that's when she started wondering.

What if her parents returned now? Could she ever forgive them for abandoning her? Could they even begin to build something of a relationship together, after so long?

What if she'd given Henry up at birth? Would he have tried to find her later on, the way she'd tried, once or twice in her younger years, to find her own parents?

What if Neal didn't have Tamara – what if he had wanted to get back together with her? Could they ever have overcome the fact that when she'd been pregnant, when she'd needed him the most – he'd left?

Seeing how close Killian and Liam were now – seeing the second chance they'd found with one another – it was starting to make her realise that maybe this competition was indeed for the best. Maybe this was the second chance she needed.

But maybe it wasn't enough just to change her job. Maybe she needed some other second chances as well.

It wasn't as though she had no friends. But they had moved around, a lot, and she had never let herself get particularly close to anyone.

_Perhaps it's time for a change._

* * *

The immunity pin was highly coveted as it allowed you to skip the next elimination you were in. And while she was determined to try her best, Emma didn't have a great deal of hope.

She knew that she was a good cook, but after eight months with these people she'd gotten to know who stood where, and right now she was solidly in the middle of the pack. And Mulan and Ruby, the two she was up against today, were at the top.

Then the Great Pasta Disaster happened.

For whatever reason, Mulan's dough refused to roll out – and for whatever reason, Ruby's disintegrated the moment it hit the boiling water. Suddenly Emma was in the home stretch, and before she knew it she was the only one with a half-decent plate of food to bring up before the judges.

"It is fairly apparent who the winner of this challenge is," Gold announced. "Emma, congratulations, you will now be able to cook for the immunity pin."

In previous weeks, in order to win immunity contestants had had to cook off against various professional chefs from restaurants in the surrounding area. No one so far had managed to win.

"As you know, we normally call in a chef," Blue continued. "But why do that when we have our two guests right here? Emma, you can choose whether you want to cook against Liam or Killian."

Both of them were grinning at her and Emma felt very on the spot. Still, the choice was fairly easy.

"Killian," she said. Perhaps a little too quickly, because he raised an eyebrow.

"Not sure if I should be insulted, love," he said. "You think it'll be easier to beat me?"

"Frankly, yes," she replied – and it was true, Liam was the more famous of the two – Killian clutched a hand to his heart in mock hurt.

The cook time was an hour and a half, the theme game meat. Emma chose venison and she was in full swing, Mary Margaret and co shouting encouragement from the viewing gallery, when disaster struck and while vigorously dicing some carrots, she took off the top of her left thumb.

For a few moments she almost didn't notice. Then she realised, _oh good God I'm bleeding profusely_, and called for the nurse.

"Jesus," the nurse said, upon leading her over to the side and slapping a tissue over it. "I can't even see the wound, it's bleeding so much."

"Pretty sure part of my finger is over there on the chopping board. Can you just bandage it up and I'll put a glove on?" _Shit_, she realised belatedly, _I think I'll have to chuck out those vegetables if they've got blood on them._

The nurse stared at her, aghast. "Emma, this is _bad_, I'm honestly surprised you're not screaming in pain. This might need stitches."

"What's going on?" Killian had come up but now. He had been cooking on the other side of a wall of shelves, but had noticed her absence.

"Your quail's gonna burn," Emma said worriedly, and he flapped a hand.

"It'll be fine. You've hurt yourself?" he lifted the tissue and pulled a face. "Christ! That looks bad."

"I've had worse. I'm honestly fine, just bandaid it for now?"

"I'll go see if I can find a bigger plaster."

The nurse hurried off and Emma waited impatiently. She was concerned about running out of time, but then again, Killian was wasting just as much standing here with her. There was also a camera shoved right in her face, which wasn't helping matters.

"I'm fine," she said to him, "Seriously – go back to your dish."

"I'd hate to win because you were sitting out," he replied. "Not good form."

"I really just need a glove. It doesn't even hurt that much. I have a high tolerance for pain."

She meant it as a joke, but suddenly he was looking at her like he could see the underlying seriousness, and she felt – uncomfortable. But not... not in a bad way, not the way she normally would if someone got too close and saw too much. Again she almost felt an odd companionship.

"They do say fingers are for burning. Or in this case, chopping," he said. "I nearly took my whole hand off once with a salami cutter, did you ever hear? I think I mentioned it in an interview somewhere."

"That sounds kinda familiar. Lucky you didn't or your career would be over."

He shrugged. "I could replace it with contraptions. A hook or a... a whisk or something."

She burst out laughing. "A whisk for a hand?"

"It'd be useful when baking!"

The nurse rushed back over with a plaster and a plastic glove, and Killian grinned at her, eyes bright, before heading back to his bench. Somehow, for the rest of the cook, she couldn't quite wipe the smile off her face.

* * *

Emma slumped back in her chair, exhausted. The judges were doing their blind tasting, which meant that, as usual for the big cooks, she was left in the waiting room while they judged. This time with Killian.

The camera had come to take a few shots of them looking pensive, but then it had left, and for now they were alone.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma said after a moment.

He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. "Speak. Demand. I'll answer."

"What's up with you and Gold?"

The question made him freeze. She saw an odd look cross his face before it passed into blankness.

"Ah," he said. "That delightful tale."

"I'm guessing there's bad blood between you two?" she pressed, and he nodded, lips set in a grim line.

"He divorced his wife, Milah, because he thinks she cheated on him with me."

"_What_?!" She'd expected they'd got into a fight about something, or made some unprofessional comment – not something that personal.

Killian nodded. "She spent some time around our restaurant when it first opened. Writing reviews, making suggestions – that sort of thing. Rumours spread."

"And..." She wasn't sure how to ask it delicately, but Killian gave her a challenging look and she decided it was straightforward or nothing. "Did you?"

"Does it matter?" he shot back.

"No," Emma replied instantly. "Not to me, it doesn't."

He looked a little taken aback. Then he smiled.

"It doesn't matter now, anyway," he said. "What matters is what Gold believes. And it was very easy for him to believe." He stretched his arms back over his head, feigning nonchalance. "I don't doubt you know what they say about me, after all."

She couldn't help but feel as though she was being tested somehow. She remembered what she'd thought before, when talking to Mary Margaret. _Playboy. Womaniser._

"They say a lot of things about a lot of people," she replied evenly.

When he looked at her it was with something like admiration.

"You're a fair judge, Miss Swan," he said.

She shrugged. "Comes with the job. I'm curious, though, do you..."

She paused, wondering if it would be awkward to ask, then ploughed on. "Do you have a girlfriend? One that the media doesn't know about?"

He scoffed. "I'd hardly go around flirting up a storm if I did. No, I don't have one."

An awkward silence.

She knew that he knew that she was wondering why not. He was attractive, young, wealthy, talented.

He hesitated, suddenly looking almost vulnerable. "I... a few times, I've... dated around but. But no one really... they expect me to be my image. They expect that carefree, dashing young chef who's made a name for himself. Not someone who..."

She bit her lip, knowing exactly what he was getting at. _Someone broken. Someone who doesn't trust easily. Someone who's still, in some ways, ruled by their past._

"I know what you mean," she said softly. "It's the same for me, kind of. I mean. Obviously I'm not as high profile as you, but since Neal I... there hasn't really been anyone. Well, for a while I dated this guy called Walsh, on and off but... he never really understood why I couldn't give myself completely to him. It didn't last that long. We're not still in touch."

"We're two lonely birds together then," he said, with a funny, awkward sort of smile that she returned.

"I suppose we are."

* * *

Emma was not surprised that Killian won the cook-off. He was a professional chef after all, and she hadn't even been expecting to compete, so she wasn't overly disappointed.

"Emma," Ruby said that night. They shared a room back at the house. "You know Killian is totally into you right?"

"Please don't tell me you and Mary Margaret have been talking about this," she scoffed, but her heart was suddenly beating faster and she wasn't sure what to think.

Ruby scooted forward across her bed. "Dude, it's obvious and I'm surprised the cameras haven't picked up on it. He's always looking at you and August told me he overheard him asking one of the producers about you."

"_What_?"

"Don't worry," she laughed, "He's not, like stalking you or anything," Emma felt a flush of something like guilt at the reminder of her own googling, "He just wanted to know where you were from."

"Huh," she said.

"_Huh_? Is that all you can come up with?" Ruby asked. "It's _Killian Jones_!"

"I know," Emma sighed, "I just..."

She hadn't even thought about dating someone in the longest time. Let alone a _celebrity_.

"What about you and Victor?" Emma nudged, just to get the topic of conversation away from her. It worked, because Ruby went as red as the streaks in her hair and started babbling about something, Killian effectively forgotten.

* * *

The Jones brothers would only be there for three more days. It already felt like they had been around forever.

As went the weekly schedule, next up was a team challenge.

"It will be brother against brother in this team cook-off," Gold announced, undoubtedly reading off some prepared script as he stared challengingly into the camera. Emma always had to try not to laugh at how ridiculously overdramatic things could sound. "Each team will have to prepare a three-course dining experience for the patrons of these two restaurants." He gestured at the two bayside eateries they had been driven to that morning.

"Our teams are uneven so Liam's team will have one less, as their restaurant has the more modern kitchen. Brothers, select your contestants."

"Toss a coin?" Killian offered. Emma hadn't had the chance to speak to him that morning. Truth be told, she was a little nervous about what would happen when she did. Part of her didn't want to believe what Mary Margaret and Ruby had hinted to her. She was...

_Scared._

"No," Liam replied, and Killian scowled at him. Liam laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oldest first, brother, you know how it goes."

"Yes," Killian snipped back, "Age before beauty."

"_Talent_ before beauty," Liam teased, and there was a ripple of laughter from the contestants as Killian mock-pouted and stepped back.

"I pick Mulan," Liam said.

Emma expected Killian's eyes to turn to her, but he said, "David."

She couldn't help feeling a little hurt – and then kicked herself for it. _Don't be stupid_.

"August," said Liam.

"Tink," said Killian. His eyes met Emma's and he gave her a small smile. She quickly caught on – undoubtedly the cameras had noticed how much time they'd spent together. Her being picked first when there were markedly better cooks around would be suspicious, to say the least, but he obviously intended to pick her next.

Except then Liam said, "Emma," and Killian couldn't help the glare he instantly shot in his brother's direction.

"Sorry bro," Liam said, with a wicked grin.

Emma moved to stand next to him. The slight disappointment she felt at being stolen from Killian's team was somewhat overwritten by her excitement at getting to cook under unquestionably one of the best chefs in the country.

The rest of the teams having been divided up, they moved to their respective restaurants. Emma was put on entrees, which meant she spent the entire prep time and the first twenty minutes of the cook rushing to finish everything before she was finally able to help out with the mains and dessert in a more relaxed manner. Liam was a hard task master; friendly but firmly authoritative and with an excruciating eye for detail. A single fingerprint on a plate was enough to get it sent back to the kitchen.

Service challenges always exhausted her, and she was quite relieved by the time it was over.

"Emma," Liam called out, as they began to file out back towards the cars.

She paused, unsure what he wanted. He beckoned her over, waiting until everyone else had left the room. Emma fidgeted a little uneasily, not quite sure how to behave around him.

"No need to look so tense," Liam said finally. "I don't bite."

"Hahaha," was all she managed to reply with.

Liam gave a small smile. "What's up with you and Kil?"

Good God. She'd known he was straightforward but this was something else.

"I... what... nothing?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it's nothing. He doesn't have the guts to ask you out."

"_What_."

He smiled. "I'm not blind, Emma – especially not when it comes to my little brother. He likes you and I was pretty sure you liked him so...?"

"I don't... I don't know."

"Oh." He looked a bit awkward now. "Sorry, I didn't... mean to put you on the spot. You did know, right?"

"I suspected, I just..." She didn't know what to say. Still wasn't sure _what _she felt, or what was even going on.

"Jesus. I've messed things up now. Look, you guys have a lot in common," he said. "Down to not quite knowing if you can trust what you feel. I just wanted to tell you that whatever you end up doing, wait until this week is over." He looked suddenly grim. "I don't need to tell you what the media's like. Especially when it comes to Killian. They'll pounce on him and they'll pounce on you. Just a warning."

"Right." It was sweet of him, she realised, suddenly connecting the fact that he was trying to look out for her.

It was a foreign feeling, someone worrying about her – especially someone she didn't know all that well.

Liam smiled. "Well then. Let's catch up with the others."

* * *

The winner of the team challenge would be whichever team had made more money at their restaurant.

Killian's team won.

Emma's heart sank as she realised that this meant she would be going into elimination. They had spent so long driving that it was late by the time they returned to the kitchen, and she didn't even get the chance to talk to him before they were heading back to the house. Somehow that only compounded the sudden melancholy that had overcome her.

The nights when you knew you had to compete to stay in the next day were always the worst. People would hole off in their rooms, poring over their recipe books, coming up with flavour combinations and trying to prepare for every possible eventuality.

Emma was distracted, though, Liam's words going round in her head.

There was no denying she was attracted to Killian. But the thought of opening herself up to someone again... it was the uncertainty more than anything that was killing her.

She spent a restless night drifting in and out of sleep, arriving at the kitchen the next morning tired and still no closer to a decision.

Then one of the lights shorted, and there was a two hour delay in filming.

"This sucks," Ruby grumbled, as they headed to get food. "Now we have to wait even longer in suspense."

Emma did not feel at all like eating, but she knew she'd have a headache later if she didn't. Over at one of the counters, however, it seemed Liam and Blue had decided to pass the time by cooking up snacks in lieu of the catering, offering tips as they did so. Killian was standing nearby, looking amused, and he moved to meet Emma when he saw her coming towards him.

"Hey," he started, then frowned. "Christ lass, you look terrible."

"Thanks," she said grimly, "And here I thought black was my colour."

"That's not what I meant." He grabbed her arm. "Let's take a walk."

They found themselves out in the herb garden again. The sun was weak and it looked like rain was coming. It certainly matched her dismal mood.

"What's wrong?"

His voice was far gentler than she'd anticipated. Suddenly she felt the upset rising in her throat, behind her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and tried to push it back down. Emma Swan had never enjoyed being vulnerable in front of anyone.

"The elimination's getting to me," she admitted. "It doesn't normally but this week I've been thinking and... I guess I've just realised that I need to make changes. Not just in my job but in my life. I don't know. Changing careers would be a start but..."

"But a job's not everything," he finished for her. "You need to have the right people, too."

She nodded.

There was a moment of silence.

"After my father left," Killian spoke up, "and I moved in with Liam, I couldn't even trust him. It took me a while. I barely knew him, he was a stranger and I thought that at any moment he could just leave too. But he didn't and now... we've made a place for ourselves. A place where... and it sounds bloody cheesy, I know, but a place where we belong. And it sounds like you have that with your son. It might not be complete yet but you don't have nothing. And as far as people go, well, we've known each other about three days but you probably know more about me than most other people. I'm guessing that makes us at least friends."

_At least_? she thought, but couldn't help but smile.

"I guess it does," she replied quietly.

"Besides," he continued. "Mary Margaret and David and Ruby – if you do end up in the food industry, well, they're your contacts. Archie, too. Even, much as it pains me to admit it, Mr Gold." He pulled a perfectly horrid face and she giggled. "So the moment your ex-boyfriend pissed you off enough for you to log onto facebook and apply for this competition... well, you're on this path now and you've already starting making those changes you're so worried about. You're much more than you think you are, Emma Swan."

The nerves from before had faded away and a warm feeling settled through her chest. It was funny how mere words could soothe away all her doubts – then again, she supposed, it wasn't just the words, it was who was saying them.

"You know what, Killian Jones," she said, turning to him, "you are too."

His eyes widened a bit and a tentative smile tugged at his lips.

Then, as was becoming usual for them, they were interrupted by a call to return to the set.

* * *

August was eliminated, overcooked chicken being his downfall. Emma was relieved, but it wasn't until filming had ended and she was walking with a bunch of the others, listening to Liam tell an anecdote about the Jolly Roger, that she realised the Jones brothers would only be there for one more day.

_What will happen next? _she wondered. Would this be one of those things, those moments in life that passed by and never came to relevance again, another _what-if _and _could-have_ to add to the others?

She glanced at Killian, and he looked back at her. He reached out and squeezed her hand; she squeezed back, surprised at his forwardness.

"Still in the competition then, Swan," he said. "My money's on you to win."

"Shut up," she said with a laugh, but he just nodded.

"I mean it. I have great faith in you."

"You'd better offer me a job if I don't," she teased, and he grinned.

* * *

The next day dawned bittersweet. They were all safe for now, the top ten home cooks in the country. But it was the last day of Jones Week, and Emma couldn't help wondering – fearing – if this master class would be the last day she saw Killian in person.

There was bad weather and a delay in filming which meant they were very rushed. There was no room to talk or hang around before they started rolling the cameras. Despite the anxious feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach, Emma couldn't help but try and enjoy herself. Liam was a good teacher; amusing too, and it was warming to see the way he and Killian played off each other. Despite whatever he might have said in interviews years ago, it was obvious that they were close as two peas in a pod now.

When the final cut was called, the final wrap taken, a surge of people crowded forward to thank the brothers for coming over. Emma hung back a little, not wanting to do or say anything in front of so many others.

She could tell Killian was itching to get her alone as well, and they got the chance when everyone else starting packing up and going back to the house. It was their weekend off, the ones they got occasionally. It was too far to visit Henry but she planned to have a long skype session and take some time to unwind on her own.

"Emma," Killian said, when they finally caught a moment together out the back of the venue. It had started to rain and the batter of water droplets on the roof overhead was almost soothing. "Enjoy the class?"

She nodded. "Of course. So where are you off to next?"

He looked sombre suddenly. "British MasterChef, actually. We've guested there a couple times already. It's the filming season I guess. We're only doing one episode, though. Shouldn't take long. Then back to the Jolly Roger."

"Oh." She'd expected he'd be leaving, but overseas – that was something else entirely.

"Emma... it has been a pleasure getting to know you." The odd formality of his words, she quickly realised, was due to nerves. He was nervous as hell and suddenly, so was she. "And I... I've connected with you in a way I never have with anyone else."

She could do nothing but stare, as it was quickly dawning on her that this was the moment she'd have to make a choice. Take a leap of faith.

"I don't want to not see you again," he said. And gaining confidence now, he said more firmly, "In fact, I'd rather like to see a lot more of you."

It would be easy to say 'me too'. It would be easy to exchange phone numbers and leave it at that. Hope that one or the other of them called, that they'd meet up for coffee and take things slowly.

She was done with slowly.

Grabbing him by the collar, she pulled him forward. He let out a startled yelp, muffled as her lips closed against his. And then they were kissing, and she shut her eyes, aware suddenly of all the small things – his fingers coming up to tangle in her hair. The warmth of his skin under her hands against the brisk chill of the air around them. The salty tang of rain in the air and the sound of it on the roof overhead.

Her heart slamming in her chest.

When they pulled apart he paused, her forehead resting against his as they breathed deeply for a few moments.

"Well," he said after a second, breathless. "That was a lot more of you than I expected. Not complaining though."

"Good," she replied. "Now give me your phone number so we can meet up as soon as possible?"

He laughed at that. And she laughed too, as she handed him her phone – and her heart still wouldn't stop pounding, and an odd giddiness had settled in her, a light joy that she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Too soon, she was being called back to the cars to take them to the house. But any fears and nerves she had about never seeing him were gone.

"'Till next time, then, Jones," she said.

He kissed her hand this time, and even that contact sent a thrill through her. Then he stepped back, gave a deep, mock-chivalrous bow.

"Not a day will go by that I won't think of you," he informed her.

She smiled. "Let's hope there aren't too many days then," she said.

* * *

Emma was eliminated three weeks later.

"Top six!" Henry exclaimed, as they sat in their kitchen on her first night back at home. She had cooked so frikkin' much over the last few months that it was a relief to just order Pizza Hut. "That's pretty damn good, Mum."

"Look at you swearing and everything," she said, only half disapprovingly, "Did you get that from Neal?"

Henry waved it off. "Seriously, Mum, you did so awesome. And I can't believe you're dating Killian Jones now. Don't we have one of his cook books?"

"We're not technically dating yet," she said.

"You text and call each other _constantly_," Henry replied, not fooled in the slightest. "You're obviously dating."

He had a point, although time zones were being a bitch and he hadn't yet responded to her telling him that she was out of the competition. She knew he was busy, though, and didn't resent him for it.

"Mum, get him to sign the book so we can sell it for a lot of money," Henry said, and she burst out laughing, reaching for another slice of pizza.

* * *

When her phone buzzed that night, she nearly fell off the bed in her haste to pick it up.

"Emma?" Killian's voice came through.

"Hey!" she said. "You get my message?"

"Yes. Top six. Not bad."

"Hey, according to my kid it's '_pretty damn good'._"

"Your kid's right," he said. "What happened? How'd you get out?"

"Jelly didn't set in time," she replied. "And everyone else's was perfect, so. I'm rooting for Mary Margaret now. By the way, you're not allowed to tell anyone I'm out. Spoilers and all."

He snorted. "I'm the last person you need to worry about leaking stuff to the press," he pointed out. "So you're free now? Back home? Holidaying and such?"

"And mighty glad to be too." The filming schedule had been so rigorous that she'd almost forgotten what it was like to just relax, to not have to worry about six or seven am starts, about make up and lighting checks.

"Right."

A moment of silence. Emma was glad just to hear his voice; to know he was on the other end of the line.

"So when are you moving over here then?"

"_What_?" she demanded, unsure if she'd heard right.

"I mean, if you're gonna come work at the Jolly Roger you'll need to be living here."

"Are you... Killian, you're not serious, you... I was _joking _about you getting me a job-"

"I know," he replied. His voice was light but he sounded nervous. "But I'm not joking about this."

She didn't know what to think. "I..."

"They come back and ask you where you are in life now, right?" he asked. "Can you imagine? Working at the Jolly Roger? It'll be even better than whoever gets first place. And Emma, I'm not just offering because we're dating. You're a damn good chef and we'd be glad to have you. Even if you start out just chopping onions." This with a note of teasing.

"Gee, thanks," she replied. "I... God, I have to think about it?"

"No rush! Holiday first. Talk to your son. Speaking of, when can _I _come over _there? _I think I should probably meet him."

"God – yes, _yes, _of course you should." And she was overwhelmed, now, but not in a bad way. "As soon as you want, as soon as you _can_."

"I shall inspect my diary haste post haste."

She heard him muttering to himself, and the rustle of pages on the other end of the phone. A wide beam spread across her face as she pressed her hand to her lips. Her mind was swelling with possibilities, with a hundred different pathways opening themselves up to her. Her life again full of _what-ifs_, but this time they were all good ones.

And in all of them, Killian and Henry, her family.

It seemed they'd both found their second chance after all.

* * *

**a/n: **Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it~


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